Last month, my grocery store had frozen pumpkin spice waffles on sale. A sucker for a good deal, I purchased a box and tossed them in the back of my freezer. Fast forward a few weeks and it was one of those mornings where breakfast had fallen to the back burner. Mid-morning, I carried my laptop to the kitchen and threw two waffles in the oven. A couple minutes later my entire apartment smelled like fall.
It is July.
I set my computer up at the table with my plate off to the side—like I often do when I’m eating and working at the same time—and the first bite instantly short circuited my brain.
To be clear, this is not high cuisine. This is discount frozen waffles. But they tasted like October. And I was wearing shorts and a tank top and sweating in the 90 degree day. How strongly we associate foods with seasons.
Ah but why not eat pumpkin spice waffles in July?
Perhaps it is fun to do the illogical.
Why not find joy in every season?
Perhaps it is fun to do the impossible.